


The Colour Inside Your Head

by papercutperfect



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercutperfect/pseuds/papercutperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts AU.</p><p>Charles receives a Pensieve for Christmas, containing the flip-book memories of his relationship with Erik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colour Inside Your Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kairin16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairin16/gifts).



> Oh wow, this was so much fun to write! Mixing my love of Hogwarts with X-men: First Class was a dream, and had me attacking my book shelves for a long-neglected Harry Potter fix. Happy Holidays, everyone!
> 
> Kairin16 - I really hope you enjoy this! I'm so sorry if it's not as fluffy as you would have liked.
> 
>  
> 
> (A quick note: in England, the age of sexual consent is 16. Although there's nothing hugely graphic here, if this squicks you then I recommend you skip this one.)

Perhaps it was deeply engrained habit that governed Charles should stick to secret passageways when wandering the school at this time of night. He was used to it by now, this act of slipping behind tapestries and whispering passwords almost second nature to him, following the tight twists and turns of a wand-lit stone path preferable to bumping into any prefects monitoring the staircases.

Not that there was any real need for him to hide in shadows and dodge behind bookshelves anymore. He was a Professor now, after all – he could wander the hallways by night all he liked, prefects or no prefects. The simple truth was, Charles was a terrible liar. Any reasonable excuse he could conjure for walking the halls in the dark was waved away with a sceptical snort and a wink (from his fellow teachers) or a knowing smile and a disbelieving ‘whatever you say, Professor Xavier’ (from the students).

Everyone knew what he was really up to: slipping out of his private rooms in Gryffindor tower to visit Professor Lehnsherr. It was common knowledge that the pair had been dating since Charles’ fifth year at Hogwarts, blowing the dynamics of Gryffindor Vs. Slytherin spectacularly out of kilter. People had whispered furiously behind the backs of their hands, scribbled notes during classes and swapped half-baked stories in the corridors. How could two such different people be romantically interested in one another? Muggle-hating Erik Lehnsherr, cold and solitary and holding a glint in his eyes just on the wrong side of homicidal, dating a boy so fascinated by Muggles that he hoped to become the Professor of Muggle Studies itself after graduation.

Even now, 15 years later, Charles was well aware that his relationship with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was still the subject of many gossip circles. Curious looks, giggles, even the odd heckle – he’d experienced them all on more than a handful of occasions. He even knew of the nickname the students had penned for them; Erik had very quickly banned the word ‘Cherik’ from ever passing Charles’ lips, lest he want to spend a cold and lonely night alone.

Keeping one hand on the rough stone wall, Charles made his way quickly through the narrow passageway, taking a set of well-worn steps two at a time. The note left with Magneto (Erik’s steely-eyed Horned Owl) had instructed Charles to meet him in the Owlery at the stroke of midnight. The Owlery was an old haunt from their very first dates as teenagers – they were long past sneaking up there for sloppy kisses and ten-minute rolls surrounded by owl droppings and feathers. Charles would be lying if he said he knew what his partner was up to by bringing him here in the middle of the night, but he was certainly intrigued. 

The passageway took him up another long set of narrow, curling stairs that grew increasingly tighter the higher he ascended. Chilled air rose in fragile clouds from Charles’ lips, his fingers turning red with cold. It had been snowing for two days straight now, burying both the castle and its grounds in a blanket of dazzling white. Hogwarts had been transformed into a gigantic Ice Palace, its many turrets looming like enchanted ice cream cones. Icicles hung as beards from the stone gargoyles, and even the lake had frozen solid (the giant squid remained a dark shape gliding beneath the glassy surface, seemingly content to the peace and quiet of its crystal shelter).

Christmas was fast approaching, and the excitement in the air was electric. Most of the students had returned to their families for the holidays, leaving only a handful to celebrate with the remaining professors in the echoing halls and corridors of the empty school. Charles had never bothered leaving for the holidays; the lofty Xavier-family mansion had never felt like a true home to him, especially with a mother and stepfather that barely acknowledged his existence, never mind exchanged gifts and cooked huge festive dinners. His stepbrother Cain had been thrown into Azkaban when Charles was a child, and his sister Raven spent her holidays with her husband and their young son somewhere near Durmstrang.

Erik, too, preferred to stay in the castle rather than the tiny bedsit he technically owned on the outskirts of Hogsmede. His mother and father had died when he was barely five, leaving him alone and lost in a world that was far too big for someone so small. He had lived in foster care until he was old enough to run away, surviving on the streets of Germany, Poland, and Switzerland. He eventually travelled to England after receiving a letter of saviour from Hogwarts, no more than 11 years old. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, Charles gave the supposedly dead-end wall a smart shove with his shoulder. The stone shifted obediently, dust raining down over his head as it slid noiselessly apart.

Erik stood by the wide, glassless window, his back in velvet shadow. Charles paused in the doorway, taking a silent moment to drink in the rare sight of his lover so relaxed, the usual tension in his broad shoulders gone. A hundred sleepy owls rustled on their overhead perches, the clicking of their beaks curious and only a little grumpy.

“It’s been a while since you brought me here,” Charles thought aloud as he stepped out into the round tower, the wall sliding shut behind him. “I’d almost forgotten the smell of damp feathers and owl pellets.”

Erik didn’t jump at the sound of his voice – no doubt he had known the very moment Charles had entered the room. His naturally attuned senses were second to none, honed ever further after many years of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Charles had only ever managed to sneak up on Erik once; he’d worn the bruises around his neck for a week, the result of a startled Erik slamming him up against the wall with a hand closed tight around his throat. Erik had apologized until he was blue in the face, though Charles had soon shut him up by admitting that he’d actually found the whole thing quite sexy.

“Almost, but not quite.” Erik smiled softly as he turned to face Charles, welcoming an embrace and a brush of their lips. “You’re late.”

Charles shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. “I’m not as young and sprightly as I used to be. Getting up that staircase is much more daunting now than it was when I was 16.”

“You’re sprightly enough when there’s some new Muggle junk in the mail. Your lunge over the breakfast table last week to grab that parcel was quite spectacular. You should consider a career as a Seeker.”

“Thank you for that, oh king of sarcasm.” Nudging Erik in the ribs, Charles peered up at their quietly whispering audience, turning slowly on the spot. “So why did you bring me up here? It’s bloody freezing. You could have come up to my room, you know, Gryffindor tower is wonderfully quiet this time of—”

He stopped short, the smile fading from his face, as Erik moved aside to reveal a waist-high pedestal draped in white cloth. He blinked, a curious frown creasing the dip of his brow. “What’s this?”

“Happy Christmas, Charles.”

A gasp of surprised laughter burst from Charles’ lips. “What, really? But – you’ve never – wow, this is – I don’t…” he trailed off, shaking his head as though to clear it. Erik smirked playfully.

“Charles Xavier, speechless? I’ll have to bring you Christmas gifts more often if that’s what shuts you up.” He waved an insistent hand at the covered pedestal. “Well? Aren’t you going to unwrap it?”

Charles slid his fingers over the fabric covering, feeling smooth, curved stone beneath. Erik had never given him a Christmas gift before, choosing instead to spoil him on birthdays and surprise him with chocolates and books and Muggle knick-knacks. Everybody knew that Professor Lehnsherr didn’t celebrate Christmas, muttering under his breath about ridiculous Muggle traditions and money-wasting scams. It was less common knowledge that Erik kept a _Menorah_ in his private room, using the tip of his wand to light each candle throughout the days of _Hanukkah_ , a tradition his parents had practiced. It was a truly beautiful sight to witness, one that Charles treasured close to his heart, silent and thankful as he watched the glimmer of candle flames dance in Erik’s eyes.

Though he didn’t celebrate the religious aspect of the holiday, Charles adored Christmas. Who couldn’t love a time when smiles came easily, when enchanted snow drifted lazily from the Great Hall’s high ceiling and suits of armour sang Christmas tunes to passers by. The buzz of excitement weaving through the castle’s halls was immensely contagious, and Charles especially loved the towering Christmas trees that lined the corridors, colourful pixies bickering as they weaved between the glittering branches. It was all so different from the sterile rooms of his childhood home, his mother and stepfather’s idea of decoration little more than dusty heirlooms he was never allowed to touch. 

“It’s not much,” Erik murmured, his hands folding almost nervously over the top of his robes. “I was going to give it to you for your birthday next year, but…” he shrugged. “I couldn’t wait.”

Charles pulled the cloth away, the whisper of fabric deliciously loud even above the gentle hooting of owls. On top of the pedestal was a round dish made of stone. Wisps of pearly white smoke coiled and twisted inside, thin tendrils weaving together in lazy, hypnotizing circles. It smelt of pine needles, of cinnamon and peppermint and fire-smoke, everything that brought memories of Erik’s hair and Erik’s skin and _Erik_.

“Do you know what it is?” Erik asked quietly. Charles nodded, watching the ghostly strands of silk dance. 

“A Pensieve.” He looked up, his smile soft. “You didn’t have to do this, Erik.”

Erik ignored him, waving at the Pensieve again. “Take a look.”

Charles licked his lips, his fingers tightening on the edges of the stone dish. He leaned forward – the smoke whirled faster, a tiny window opening, its call as irresistible as the spell of a Veela. With a sudden jarring lurch the ground beneath him gave a heave, and Charles tumbled headlong into vivid, preserved memory.

_The 13-year-old Erik was all gangly limbs and hunched shoulders, not quite as graceful and comfortable in his own skin as his 32-year-old self. His second-hand robes were patched and frayed, yet he wore them with the confidence of someone who had long ago stopped caring about the opinions of others. Charles watched as Erik made his way across the frozen grounds, the scenery much like the one he had left behind in the present. Erik had a scarf boasting the Slytherin colours wrapped tight around his neck, and his nose was already burned red from a cold, biting wind. He looked impatient, angered, clutching a stack of books to his chest as his long legs lifted high out of the knee-deep snow. Late for a Care of Magical Creatures class, Charles had found out later._

_Charles knew which memory he was watching before it even happened, though he still cringed when the air split with a great cracking noise, like twigs splintering beneath the heavy foot of a giant. Erik’s books flew from his hands as he fell, straight down, through the thin layer of ice he had unknowingly stepped upon. A thick blanket of snow had dangerously disguised the edge of the lake; Erik hadn’t even noticed his path straying until it was too late._

_Charles bit his lip, reminding himself it was only a memory, that he didn’t need to dash forward and save Erik, not when –_

_\- not when his 11-year-old self was already sprinting through the snow, throwing his scarf and robe to the ground and jumping through the hole in the ice with no regard for his own safety. He could vividly remember the intense pain of icy water stabbing at his skin, second only to the desperation that had clawed at his chest. He remembered opening his eyes, seeing Erik fighting to reach the surface. The struggle to wrap his arms around Erik’s chest and drag him back through the ice was a memory he didn’t need a Pensieve to recall, yet there they were, bursting from the water with matching gasps for cold air. Erik scrambled out onto the bank first, his eyes huge and wary as they snapped to Charles – but then he was quickly reaching over, grabbing a handful of soaked school shirt and hauling him up onto the snow._

_Their first meeting. Charles had saved Erik from drowning without ever even speaking to him. A first year Gryffindor and a second year Slytherin, lying panting in the snow, staring at each other in disbelief and awe and the explosive beginnings of something they couldn’t yet begin to understand._

_“Hi,” Charles whispered._

“I hadn’t expected to be saved.” Charles looked up, the jolt of returning to his body making his stomach lurch. Erik was smiling, one half of his face in shadow as he gazed down at the Pensieve. “I was a ghost; no friends, family, no real enemies. I kept my head down in classes and received detentions only for turning in late homework. I drifted through my life without truly living it, numb as I was from my parent’s deaths.” He flicked his gaze up to Charles. “And then you came along, quite literally crashing into my life. And, well, the rest is history, as they say.”

The smoke was swirling again; Charles bent his head and let the Pensieve whisk him to the next of Erik’s carefully extracted memories.

_“I don’t understand you, Erik. How could you have lived amongst Muggles for half of your life and still feel such hatred toward them?”_

_“Living among them is exactly what caused me to despise them so much, Charles. You seem to think all Muggles are like the ones in the storybooks you’re fed in Muggle Studies; that they’re all helpless and friendly, oblivious to the magic around them. They’re not. The times that my power slipped, when I accidentally summoned a wave of water to put out a burning building, did they rush to my side to congratulate me and shake my hand? No. They looked upon me with fear, tried to catch me, tried to lock me up and experiment on me. They’re filth.”_

_“I’m truly sorry about what happened in that wretched foster home, Erik, but they’re not all like that. Most are good, innocent people.”_

_“We are the next step in evolution, you said it yourself.”_

_“Yes, but, I don’t think that gives us the right to demoralise or enslave Muggles. If they are to fade out, then it should be gradual, a natural merging of our societies. Look at the machines they’ve created without the use of magic; their imaginations are quite extraordinary. Look at the Muggleborn’s that go on to be amazing Witches and Wizards. They’re not as useless as you seem to think.”_

Their friendship wasn’t always easy; the two boys clashed and fought on a regular basis, their heated arguments lasting so late into the night that they often had to continue their debates during the detentions they’d received for being caught out of bed. Charles was firm in his belief that Wizards and Muggles could co-exist in harmony; Erik vehemently disagreed. 

Memories of their fights blurred from one to the next, and Charles couldn’t help but smile fondly. He’d never met someone who could argue with him as well as Erik could, not even Raven. Erik was passionate in his beliefs, animated and stubborn. Sometimes they could sway the other into begrudgingly agreeing with them on certain points, but more often than not they left for bed with the burn of adrenaline a hot surge in their veins. It was clear from the start that they both enjoyed the debates, bouncing ideals and points of view back and forth until their throats were dry and sore.

The next clear memory washed into view in a slow, gentle bleed of colour, calling to mind a blank canvas pushing a masterpiece toward its surface. Charles held his breath: he’d been wondering when this one would show up.

_Their first kiss took place on Erik’s 17th birthday. There was his younger self, a pink blush prickling his cheeks as Erik cupped his jaw in one long-fingered hand. 15-year-old Charles had presented the birthday boy with a box of what he knew to be Erik’s favourite sweets, purchased on a recent trip to Hogsmede. Erik had taken one look at the selection of peppermint toads and strawberry-filled chocoballs before dropping them onto the table and promptly pressing Charles up against the wall. To Charles, it had all come as a huge shock, something he had long ago convinced himself would never happen. He’d harboured a crush on the older wizard since… well, probably since the day he met him, but definitely since the night they snuck into the Prefect’s bathroom and Erik had stripped down to his bare skin and Charles had stammered something incoherent and turned away far too late. The rough stone wall of the library had scratched his skin even through the layers of his robes, but with Erik’s hands on his face and their lips softly touching, Charles hadn’t even spared it a second thought._

_They’d eaten the chocolates together after, sat cross-legged beneath a table at the back of the library, sneaking shy kisses between mouthfuls of strawberry cream. They’d both been a little ill the next day from too many sweets, but it was nothing even more kisses hadn’t solved._

“You really had no idea how I felt about you, did you,” Erik mused as Charles pulled himself back from the Pensieve once again. “All the not-so-subtle hints and lingering touches. Even after I turned down a date with Magda to spend the evening with you, doing homework and playing Wizard Chess, you still didn’t get it.”

“I was 15, Erik.” Charles shrugged, pushing a hand through his mussed hair. “Hardly the master flirt I am today.”

The Pensieve shimmered invitingly, a swirl of pulsing pastel colour; Charles dived back inside.

_A rapid succession of memories slid from one to the next like a flipbook of developing pictures. There they were holding hands as they walked the secret passageways between classes, reserving their kisses for secluded areas away from prying eyes and gossiping mouths. There were kisses tucked away in the branches of a tree, the two boys only breaking apart when Charles wobbled violently and clung tighter to the rough bark gripped between his thighs. The first love-bite Erik had received upon his neck had been hidden beneath scarves and buttoned shirt collars, a painful yet delicious reminder of their last visit to the moonlit owlery._

_Despite being older, Erik had never pushed Charles further than a few spectacularly dirty kisses and the occasional unbuttoned shirt. He remained a gentleman with a naughty mouth and a power of restraint that Charles himself had never managed to wield._

_Then Charles had turned 16, and all Hell had broken loose._

“You know what’s coming next,” Erik’s voice spoke from somewhere beyond the smoky edges of the Pensieve, and Charles smirked.

“What or who?”

Even without seeing his face, Charles could vividly imagine Erik’s exasperated eye-roll. “That was terrible, Charles.” 

_The owlery had barely changed between then and now. Still the same rustle of feathers and click of claws, its floor scattered with the bones of unfortunate mice. The same perches of wood and stone framed the walls, some housing a solitary owl while others packed in whole families, their heads folded beneath each other’s wings. No doubt some of the owls were the same even today, older and wiser than half the population of the school._

_The only thing that had changed in the room was the appearances of the two boys currently embracing in the syrupy darkness. Charles had filled out considerably, more through width than height to his dismay; his frame was compact, his hands broad and wide and currently gripped tight in fistfuls of Erik’s hair. Erik had grown ever taller, his shoulders widening even as his waist remained breathtakingly slim. The manner of their kisses was different to the previous ones they had shared beneath the watchful gazes of a thousand beady eyes: these ones had no intention of stopping any time soon._

_Erik’s mouth travelled lower, pausing briefly to bite at the tempting column of Charles’ throat before sliding further south in a succession of slow, languid kisses. Long fingers quickly found the clasp of Charles’ robes, and Charles hadn’t stopped them, only tipped his head back to allow Erik’s tongue to swipe over the dip between neck and collarbone. The thud of Erik’s knees hitting the ground was muffled, pillowed by a blanket of fallen owl feathers._

_The present Charles watched, his heart in mouth, as Erik pushed Charles’ robes open and tugged at the zip of his trousers. He could remember feeling slightly nervous – and, there, his younger self glanced down with an anxious bite of his lip – but God, he had wanted this more than anything, even more than a ride on one of those wonderful Muggle inventions that could fly through the air without the aid of magic. They’d waited long enough for this, each kiss lingering just that little longer over the last handful of weeks._

_Erik’s eyes had risen to meet his, just as nervous but so alive with need and hunger, and Charles had found himself relaxing with a hitch of his breath and a silent nod of consent._

_Neither of them had been experienced. Sure, they’d kissed and touched and pressed against each other, but this was a whole new territory. The cold air of the owlery brought his skin out in shivering goosebumps when Erik dragged both trousers and underwear down to his ankles; Charles had blushed furiously, exposed and shy and_ – fuck. _The first touch of Erik’s lips to the head of his cock had almost been enough to buckle his knees._

_Erik's movements were inexpert, but Charles barely lasted two minutes, overwhelmed by such amazing, foreign sensation. It was nothing like the touch of his own hand, not even when he’d licked his palm and closed his eyes and imagined Erik’s lips stretching obscenely wide around him – oh, Merlin, just like that. One hand in Erik’s hair, the other reached up to grip an unoccupied perch, his head slamming back against the wall, eyes tightly clenched shut. The older Charles was almost embarrassed by the stream of breathless, uninhibited noises his teenage self had gasped into the air._

_After that, no secluded room had been safe, no unattended desk left neat for long. Their passion was ever hungry, consuming, the last clutches of their collective restraint all but thrown to the wind. Charles watched, his face burning a deep red at the film reel of lust-glazed memory. Charles on his knees behind the Groundskeeper’s hut; the owlery floor cushioned with a layer of their robes as Erik’s slicked fingers pushed inside him; the skin of Charles’ legs slippery from a quickly murmured spell, Erik pressed hot and heavy to his back as he rocked into the hot, tight space between his thighs. For now, they shied away from full penetrative sex; the short hours they managed to snatch together after curfew simply wasn’t long enough for such an act, not with prefects and teachers prowling the halls. If only they had known about the Room of Requirement back then._

“You unleashed a monster that day. A very insatiable monster.” Charles chuckled softly as he surfaced from the Pensieve, the skin of his neck rather flushed. “I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

“Ecstatic.” Erik grinned, the white of his teeth flashing in the moonlight. He nodded at the Pensieve. “Keep watching.”

_Erik’s graduation ceremony had been both wonderful and terribly sad; Charles had stood in a sea of his fellow sixth-year students, bittersweet tears standing sharply at the corners of his eyes even as he cheered along with the rest of them. No longer a student of Hogwarts, Erik had had no choice but to leave the school behind and stay in the one-roomed apartment he owned above a magical pet store in Hogsmede. Charles had visited as often as he could, both through permitted visits and the secret passageway into the cellar of Honeydukes, but it was never enough. Erik hated the bedsit, hated the screech of magical creatures that kept him up at night, hated the landlord that relentlessly hounded him for rent money. Most of all he missed Hogwarts, how safe and secure he had felt there, and of course, he missed Charles’ constant presence as he would mourn the loss of a limb._

_Having their own space did have its advantages, however. The memory of their first time bloomed with a wave of lust so powerful that Charles’ head spun, his breath catching on a needle-sharp gasp. Tangled sheets snared tangled limbs, blood red against pale white. The memory was so vivid he could smell the clean, fresh sweat of their bodies, hear the creak of the wooden bed frame beneath the heated chants of each other’s names. He watched, transfixed: Charles on his back, his legs wrapped tight around Erik’s waist, their lips brushing yet not quite kissing as they gasped into the breath-damp air between them. It had hurt at first despite the careful preparations beforehand, but Charles had quickly shook his head at Erik’s concerned questions, his thighs clenching tighter around Erik’s hips. The pain was nothing compared to the pleasure of such intimacy, to finally be joined like this after so many years of shy kisses at the back of the library. Their movements were a little awkward, both unsure of pacing and positions, but even now Charles could appreciate just how perfect it had been. Well, it would have been perfect if a toad from the pet shop below hadn’t found its way up the stairs and into Erik’s room, jumping on Charles’ chest just as his orgasm was about to hit._

‘I think your scream may have burst my eardrums,” Erik’s deep voice brought Charles to the surface once more. “I was rather proud of myself until I saw the damn toad.”

_After Charles had graduated (of course receiving O’s in every subject he’d taken), he was immediately offered the role of Muggle Studies Professor. Erik hadn’t been too pleased about the subject, but their bickering did nothing to slate Charles’ enthusiasm. The memory of him laughing and pumping the air would be almost embarrassing if it weren’t for the fond taint of Erik’s mind clouding the image a soft blur of pinkish-gold._

“You didn’t look particularly dignified when you got the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, Erik,” Charles chided playfully. “I seem to recall you running down the stairs of your bedsit and shaking your landlord’s hand. Don’t think I didn’t see you cuddling that cat, either.”

_To celebrate their new jobs, the two of them had taken a weeklong trip to America, fulfilling Charles’ lifelong dream of riding in an airplane. Erik had sulked the entire flight (“why couldn’t we have used a portkey? We’d have been there by now and not stuck on this death-trap”) but had cheered up once the muggy heat of the country had settled into his skin. He had even enjoyed Disneyland, intrigued by the looming metal rides and the Muggles dressed up like overly large cartoon mice. Here was a place where the borders of Muggle and Magic were hard to see, the colour and noise and overpowering scent of sun cream and cinnamon churros enough to blind even Erik to his prejudices, if only for a week._

_Charles snorted at the memory of his blend-in-with-the-Muggles outfit; a Hawaiian shirt and a horribly clashing pair of orange shorts that fell past his knees. When the heat had dipped he’d draped a fuzzy blue cardigan over the top, waving merrily at the Muggles that had peered at him over the tops of their sunglasses. Erik had taken to Muggle fashion surprisingly well, dressing in thin khaki slacks and polo shirts. He’d looked sexy as hell, and Charles had found it immensely hard to stop himself from pawing at him in the middle of Florida’s sunlit streets._

_They had left with sunburn peeling their noses and a bunch of photographs both from a magical camera and a disposable Muggle contraption that Charles had fallen in love with. Erik hadn’t trusted the static pictures, poking suspiciously at a picture of himself and Charles stood beside a Muggle dressed like Tarzan._

The best thing about securing jobs at Hogwarts wasn’t the salary or the power-kick of such influential Professor’s posts – rather it was living together once again, back in the nearest thing to a home either of them had ever had. Initially, they discussed the possibility of owning a house together - maybe in the Scottish countryside somewhere close to Hogwarts, or a town beside the sea. They’d even gone so far as to take a look around a cottage in a rural, Wizard-populated village, their hands squeezed tightly together as they’d peered around the rooms and tried to imagine their day-to-day lives playing out behind the crumbling, ivy-covered walls. Eventually Erik had admitted, sheepishly, that he would rather stay at the school between term times. Charles had been relieved. They already spent their nights together and woke up beside one another, took their meals side by side and had a library and a study and sprawling grounds at their feet; what difference did it make whether they lived together outside the castle or not? Charles was a favourite amongst the students, many of them tracking him down after hours and between classes to hear his patient, unbiased council. To Erik, Hogwarts was a stable, secure set of walls that housed every person and possession he loved; why leave it? (Plus, after discovering the Room of Requirement and the plethora of kinky things that appeared whenever they entered, neither of them were in a particular rush to leave Hogwart’s walls and its many surprises).

_Memories were coming thick and fast now, snippets of half-remembered thought and treasured image: Charles fast asleep, one hand curled by his chin, the scatter of pin-wheeling freckles across his bare shoulders standing vivid against porcelain pale skin. Another of Charles as a 12-year-old child, gripping his wand and narrowing his eyes in concentration; the paperclip they were trying to transfigure into a porcupine shuddered violently and flew off the desk, hitting Sean in the eye. There he was with his face screwed up in disgust, chewing furiously on a cabbage-flavoured Bertie Bott’s Bean._

_More, faster, their colours pulsing; Charles playing with Erik’s fingers one lazy afternoon by the lake, tracing from knuckle to nail with the tip of his wand. Smiles that stretched his lips and scrunched his eyes, his laughter loud and uninhibited. Arguments that had turned to explosive kisses and rather amazing angry sex. Snippets of his voice, the first ‘I love you’ that he had whispered into Erik’s mouth. Music, the vague recollection of drunken dancing after Charles had somehow gotten his hands on a bottle of Firewhiskey. It was all here, spinning around his head, the sights and sounds and smells of their relationship._

“There are so many other memories I could show you.” Erik traced his fingertips over the lip of the stone Pensieve. “22 years worth in fact.”

“Merlin, don’t say that; I feel old now.” Charles blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes as he stepped away from the Pensieve. The smoke curled innocently, sweetly, betraying nothing of the whirl of churning emotion it held within its depths. 

“Do you like your gift?” Erik asked, and if Charles hadn’t known him as well as he did, he would have missed the slight note of concern carefully hidden in his tone.

He smiled, a slow tug of his lips. “I love it.” Stepping around the Pensieve, Charles curled a hand around the nape of Erik’s neck, drawing him down into a soft kiss. “Thank you. It’s the best Christmas gift I’ve ever had.”

Erik wrapped his arms around Charles’ waist, pulling the shorter man up onto his toes. “Am I going to get a private Christmas gift in return?”

“I _have_ got you one, actually.”

Erik blinked, his eyebrows furrowing in suspicion. “What is it?”

Charles’ smile became a wolfish grin, and if horns could have sprouted from the top of his head then Erik wouldn’t have been shocked to see them there. “Remember that Muggle shop we passed on our last trip to London? The one with the darkened windows and the scantily-dressed mannequins?”

Erik nodded slowly, apprehension and more than a little excitement stirring in the pit of his stomach. “What about it?”

“I _might_ have made a little purchase in there when you were getting your robes fitted. Something that Muggles like to use in private. In pairs sometimes.”

“Is it something electrical? Batteries don’t work behind the school’s charms, remember?”

“Ah, but with the right spells at hand, it’ll work a treat. Come on… even a Muggle-hating Grinch like you can appreciate a little Christmas sex, right?”

“You’re lucky I love you so much.”


End file.
